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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/24599740">Lost Huntsmen and Huntresses in einer Kriegszerrissenen Welt</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sirovaticus/pseuds/Sirovaticus'>Sirovaticus</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>RWBY in the World of Kaiserreich [1]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Hearts of Iron (Video Game), Kaiserreich: Legacy of the Weltkrieg, RWBY</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe - 1930s, Alternate Universe - Post World War I, Fighter Pilots, Gen, Ideology, Isekai, Separations, War</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-06-08</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-06-25</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-04 07:42:17</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>4</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>4,808</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/24599740</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sirovaticus/pseuds/Sirovaticus</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>The Students of Beacon Academy are in the midst of the worst night of their lives when a cataclysmic event, unexpected by everyone, snatches many of them from the battle for their school. The members of teams RWBY and JNPR, and a few more figures from Remnant, find themselves scattered across a strange world. Here, there are not grimm. Here, no one else has an aura or semblance. Here, people squabble over a variety of complex ideologies like Syndicalism and National Populism, and use them to hate each other blindly. Here the land is scorched by instability and economic crisis, and most notably, here, in this world centered around the Kaiserreich, there has recently been one Weltkrieg, and another looms on the horizon for all to see.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Blake Belladonna &amp; Yang Xiao Long, Jaune Arc/Pyrrha Nikos, Lie Ren/Nora Valkyrie, Ruby Rose &amp; Weiss Schnee</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>RWBY in the World of Kaiserreich [1]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1778293</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>15</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>20</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Chapter 1</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Kaiserreich: Legacy of the Weltkrieg is a wildly popular mod of  Paradox Interactive's WWII strategy game, Hearts of Iron IV, that asks the question "What would the world be like if Germany and the Central Powers had won the First World War?" It has a rich lore and is really just better than the base game itself, quite a credit to its dev team. </p><p>RWBY is an animated American web series created by the unforgotten legend Monty Oum, and is published by Rooster Teeth.</p><p>May this work reflect respect for the independent creators that initiated both of these creative projects, which have each provided me with so much entertainment and even some inspiration for my meager talents.</p>
    </blockquote><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>A One-in-a-million accident activates one of Salem's secret weapons.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p> </p><p> </p><p>
  <strong>
    <em>Fall of Beacon, Autumn, ca. 80 years after the Treaty of Vytal ended The Great War.</em>
  </strong>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>As Mercury continued to film the carnage below, Emerald got to work packing up the rest of the observation post. Once the tower was down, they would want to evacuate as quickly as possible.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Plus, it provided  Emerald with a much needed distraction from the concerns troubling her mind, and making her question the woman that had saved her. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>In terms of the plan, things were going well, they hadn’t even had to deploy the special weapon that Cinder’s Mistress had provided.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>However, somewhere in the chaos, someone had managed to triangulate the broadcast, and in that instant, 3 Atlas troopers kicked in the door. Emerald was quick to draw her weapons, and before long, a neon lime green was burning its way through 3 sets of white armor. One of the troopers, however, sent out one errant shot as he stumbled.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Time seemed to go in slow motion as the bullet careened right into that black and gilded box that Cinder and her team had hitherto guarded so jealously and treated so carefully. Emerald could only watch in horror as the third and final of the large red jewels atop it illumined, and the gears inside began turning for a second before jamming and sending out smoke. Red electricity formed jagged arcs from the box to the surfaces around, then subsided in an instant. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Then the reds shifted to white, and after a moment flashes appeared all over the campus, out into Vale, up to the airships in the skies, even down to the foundations and vaults, absorbing whatever soul-bearing figure was caught in their light and leaving nothing behind to indicate where they went.</span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <strong>
    <em>21 September, 1936 AD, ca. 15 years after the Peace With Honor ended the Weltkrieg. 11:24 AM Local Time</em>
  </strong>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Yang awoke with a start, sitting straight up in a mere second, and finding herself in a fallow field, safe and unhurt…</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>...but alone.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“What the hell?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Things were not making that much sense before this, there was so much chaos in the last 48 hours, but this... this made NO sense.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The last thing she remembered was that horned bastard stabbing his katana into Blake’s abdomen. She lost control, and charged at him in a blind rage. His calm, the position of his sword, his timing as he began a swing...she was going to lose, and lose painfully, but then between them there was a bright white flash, and all of a sudden she felt like she was falling, and falling, and falling, until she wasn’t.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Am I… dead?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It was a rational conclusion to reach, she had been on the precipice of receiving a great injury, perhaps even a fatal one, maybe it was so quick that she actually didn’t feel a thing, or maybe the pain was forgotten upon reaching… this place.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>As an afterlife...this place didn’t make sense either. First of all, she didn’t see anyone right away. Aren’t there supposed to be hundreds of times more total dead than the amount of people alive on Remnant at any given point? If she was in a place of punishment, isolation made sense, but if this was eternal torment, why is there a bright sun and gentle wind? Why is the temperature so moderate? And why are there </span>
  <em>
    <span>signs </span>
  </em>
  <span>of people, like grain fields and tractors? If this, instead, is heaven, then why do people still have to toil to eat, or make machines to accomplish their goals? This couldn’t be reincarnation, either. She had the same body, intact and unwounded, and could still remember everything she could in her old life.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The only conclusion that made sense was that she had somehow been teleported. But to where?</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Well, we’re not in Patch anymore.”  </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>With this, she stood up and began brushing the dirt and dry flecks of straw off of her clothes. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Then she noticed a young man approaching from behind a field of tall corn. She began lifting her fists for a fight.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Whoa, easy there!”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She quickly returned to a rested stance and lowered her hands. “Sorry. Just a little on edge. Not quite sure where I am.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Ah, well... you know, if you needed a place to stay or some food, asking is always a good bet. Folks are mostly decent around here about that sort of thing to a girl like you… well, inasmuch as they can afford. Say, what’s yer name?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Yang Xiao Long.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The farmboy’s mouth crooked up into an unbelieving smirk and he chuckled. “Heheh, pardon my French, miss, but...” he looked around for anyone else, and seeing no one, turned back to her. “...bullshit!” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“What do you mean by that!?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“C’mon, you really expect me to believe that a tall, round-eyed blonde girl, a thousand miles from the closest ocean, who speaks perfect English, was named by her parents  in… uh, Chinese... or Japanese… or whatever type a’ oriental jargon that was?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>A million new questions screamed in Yang’s head. Since when was Valish, the common tongue of Remnant, called English? Since when does her name not make sense next to who she was? How can someone even tell that? Chinese...Japanese, what are those? And people’s appearances marking where they are from immediately just between humans, not even accounting for faunus? Remnant hadn’t been like that in a long, long time.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Had she been transported to another world? There was a word for this in those Mistrali graphic novels that Blake liked, but she couldn’t, for the life of her, remember what it was.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The farmer, after a minute, continued. “Well, anyway, I won't make you tell me, but my name’s Charlie Brandt, and you’re on my uncle’s farm in Kansas, ‘bout 20 miles outta Topeka.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Yep, this definitely isn’t Remnant.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Anyway, uh, Yang, was it? Aunt Marlene should be making lunch about now, if you want something to eat, how ‘bout you come on down to the house.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Yang’s stomach growled. Food did sound good.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Slowly she began to nod. “Yeah. Alright… thanks!” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>In the back of her mind, she could only wonder what had happened to her team, to her sister, and Blake. What had happened to Blake?</span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
<strong>
    <em>21 September, 1936 AD. 7:28 PM Local Time.</em>
  </strong>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Blake may have been confused about why she woke up on a boat, but that didn’t matter as much as finding help. Aura may have been helping her wound, but she had little of it starting to regenerate, and it couldn't be trusted to keep blood in her body fast enough on its own. She quickly undid her bow and repurposed it into bandages. She would just have to hope that whoever was playing that accordion down the docks was at least a little bit faunus-friendly. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>So she slowly pushed herself up, grimacing through the pain. She carefully disembarked the small fishing boat and, clutching her side, made her way towards the lively, bouncing tarantella coming from the land.</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>So, that's the first chapter. Yang finds herself in the middle of the United States. Blake doesn't know where she is, but it seems to have fish, so how bad can it be for her, really? Expect Chapter 2 in the next few days, depending on how many characters I decide to cover in it.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Chapter 2</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>More of Remnant's people emerge into this odd new world, and the powers of this world are already starting to take notice.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <b>
    <em>21 September 1936, ca. 16 years after the Treaty of Trieste ended the War on the Alpine Front.</em>
  </b>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>As Blake walked, the town and its surroundings came into view. The locale and nature vaguely reminded her a little bit of Kuo Kuana. There were palm trees and things, generally, were dry, but not too dry, at least right here on the coast. The architecture, on the other hand, was entirely different. It was reminiscent most closely of Vale, but with a slight influence from something else. Vacuo, perhaps? Most of the buildings were relatively short, with the tallest towers seeming to belong to religious buildings of some kind. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>In the other direction she could see another town on an island across the water, beneath tall mountain peaks. It looked to be slightly larger than the one in which she found herself. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Blake continued following the sound of the accordion, and eventually she found her way to the end of the docks there, the man playing stood on the far side of a small square. By a fountain, two more men were chatting. With her ears she could hear their discussion, but at first the words were strange, sounding like few words she had ever heard, and yet, while the sounds felt foreign in her core, she was, somehow, understanding them. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“We know the Socialists will try for another </span>
  <em>
    <span>Risorgimento</span>
  </em>
  <span> soon, and we can’t wait for this depression to subside. Someone needs to take firm control.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Things are already improving, Simone. The new Industrial-“</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Is a good first step, Mario, but more needs to be done.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“And you think these… </span>
  <em>
    <span>Camicie Nere</span>
  </em>
  <span> thugs are the ones to do it?” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“It's not like they are going to run rampant. Integralism, above all else, places its trust in those who already guide our nation in spirit: the King and the Church.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>At this point, Blake interjected. The noise her mouth was going to make surprised her, but knowing that it meant the right thing, she made herself go through with it</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Perdonatemi, signori. Mi potete aiutare?”</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Mario, happy for the chance to talk of more pleasant things, was the first to offer help.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Ah, of course, miss. How may I be of assistance.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Simone sighed. “Leave it to you to derail a good conversation at first sight of some <em>bella donna</em>.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Blake’s ears perked right up at the sound of her name. “Wait, you know who I am!?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>As the last of the words rolled off her tongue she could already see that she had made a mistake. The men’s eyes had bulged and locked onto the top of her head. All color had drained from their faces and their mouths had fallen agape. For an instant, all three were frozen in an uncomfortable silence.</span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span>The men were the first to break it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHH!” In unison they began screaming and running away.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“<em>Il diavolo! Il diavolo!</em>” Simone began repeating.</span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span>Blake bowed her head and pinched the bridge of her nose. “Ugh, <em>cazzo!”</em></span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>***</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>
    <em>21 September 1936, 15 years after Victory, 8 months after Black Monday. 7: 24 PM Local time.</em>
  </b>
</p><p>
  <span>A static-laced broadcast creaked out of the radio as Wenzel Dorn sat in his Munich Apartment. He was staring at the uniform set in front of him. He had seen plenty of them before as a young boy, watching the soldiers march off to the war. But this one was different. It bore the markings of a brand new branch of service: The Luftwaffe. Under construction for the last two years, had finally begun accepting enlistments. He had been one of the first to show up to the recruiting station. The officer had told him that, from his scores, he was likely to be fast-tracked into an NCO rank once he completed training. He would be shipping out for basic training in a few weeks.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The radio continued to play:</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Ich brauche keine Millionen, mir fehlt kein Pfennig zum Glück, ich brauche weiter nichts als nur Musik, Musik, Mu-”</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The static swelled suddenly and the radio shook on the table. A light flashed outside the window. Then he heard an impact.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Ow!” A feminine voice squeaked.</span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span>Weiss Schnee looked around at unfamiliar surroundings. She could already tell that this city was large enough to be a kingdom capital, but she didn’t recognize it as Vale, nor as Atlas or Mantle, and from the pictures she had seen, Vacuo and Mistral could be ruled out too.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>And then she saw the moon. At this point a crescent in the western reaches of the sky, but it was not shattered. It was smooth, and round, with no extra particles trailing it. Just one perfect ball.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Wh-what!?” She stood, bewildered and afraid.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>A door creaked open a slight bit behind her.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Hel-... <em>Hallo</em>?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Something’s wrong with my speech! </span>
  </em>
  <span>Weiss thought, terrified.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“S...sorry. Are you alright? Can I help you?” A boy, probably only a couple of years older than her, emerged from behind the door. He had blond hair and green eyes. He was slender yet toned, and about average height.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>There were many questions in Weiss’ head. Where was Myrtenaster? What happened to the moon? What happened to Beacon? Who are you? Why are we both talking in such an odd manner?</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>In the end, she chose to start with the big one.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Where am I?” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Uhh… <em>München. Bayern. Deutschland</em>?” He answered, confused. By her expression, none rang a bell.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Forgive me, but, what was that, just now, with the light and the static and…. and the you?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I… was hoping <em>you</em> would know that. Ah, where are my manners?" She said, lowering herself into a curtsy. "Weiss Schnee! You probably recognize the name, or perhaps my music, if you don’t follow business.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You are named White Snow?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“No! Weiss Schnee!”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Uh, that’s what I said. ‘<em>Weiß Schnee</em>.’ (White snow). Odd name, but I’ve heard stranger ones.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Oh, goodness, this can't be happening! This can't be… oh!</span>
  </em>
  <span>   She was already exhausted, but this shock was getting to her, and fast</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>And with that Weiss fell backwards and her world went black. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>
    <em>21 September 1936. Communard Intelligence and State Research Offices, Paris, France. 8:02 local time</em>
  </b>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Commissar Nina Moreau took a long drag off her cigarette as she reviewed the case files in front of her. Foreign Espionage and Anti-Syndicalist Activity were something greatly concerning to Comrade Valois, and there could never be a lack of cases being processed by this office, lest the office become a case as well. All she had to do, however, was decide which doors would get a knock tonight.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She was a dark haired and rosy-skinned woman, about thirty, with a face equal parts captivating and terrifying. Rather than being glazed-over and cynical as one would expect of her station, her warm, wide, and shining dark eyes burned with passion for the work of syndicalism. An eye-catching red formed the beret proudly adorned her head and anointed the edges of the well-fitting blue uniform she wore.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Smothering her cigarette in the ashtray before her, she lifted the dossier on the left of her desk. An old man, ostensibly, and in all probability. kind, a new grandfather according to state birth records, had apparently made a joke implying that the German Army had high-class military equipment. It would be more than enough. She grasped the form with both hands, one on either side, and planted a smooch dead center on the page, leaving a crimson stain in the shape of lips. The kiss of death. Her agents would know what to do.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>A knock came from the door to her office.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Oui, entrez!”</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Investigator Charles Hollande, a younger agent, yet one of her most trusted, entered. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Comrade Moreau, the scientists from DAMOCLES have detected some sort of reading outside of Orleans.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Her heart skipped a beat at the news. Given the scope of DAMOCLES, any abnormality they felt a need to report could very well turn into the end of the whole French Commune.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span> She stood, and took immediately to putting on her jacket. “Get the DAMOCLES project director on the phone immediately. Tell him that I want details, and send some of our advance teams to the site right away!”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“<em>Oui, comrade!</em>” Hollande replied “And, em, where are you going?”</span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Au travail!”</span>
  </em>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>I have decided that the characters magically speaking and understanding the languages of their host country is going to be the best way to handle this going forward, as English is less of a global language in a German-dominated world, and imposing a language barrier on most of the characters would just be too much. </p><p>So far: </p><p>W: German Empire<br/>B: Kingdom of Two Sicilies<br/>Y: The USA</p><p>???: Commune of France </p><p> </p><p>A second chapter in just a bit over 24 hours. The next will probably take a few days as I am busy finishing the year of school for the rest of the week.</p><p>Thank you all so much for the interest you have shown in this work, it is more than I ever expected I would get on the first chapter of an obscure crossover.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Chapter 3</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <b> <em>21 September 1936, Near Topeka, KS, USA. 11:49 Central Standard Time</em> </b>
</p><p> </p><p>The house that sat on the Brandt farm was a charming two-story washed with light blue paint. A table sat right in the kitchen where quick meals could be enjoyed where plenty of light shone. The entire homestead was alive with the activity of children: Charlie’s younger siblings and cousins, 9 of them in total. Each in their own time zoomed in to grab a sandwich from the stout, sweet-faced woman who was assembling them with a smile one-by-one inside the window.</p><p> </p><p>Yang whispered to Charlie. “Hey, so, if you’re going to be introducing me, and ‘Yang’ is so weird to you, is ‘Blake’ any better?”</p><p> </p><p>“That <em> might </em>work as a last name, but as a first name, no.”</p><p> </p><p>“Hngg. How about ‘Weiss?’”</p><p> </p><p>“Same as for ‘Blake.’”</p><p> </p><p>Yang stopped walking.</p><p> </p><p>“...What about ‘Ruby?’”</p><p> </p><p>“Now, <em> there </em> you go! A normal, American girl’s name! So should I introduce you as Ruby?”</p><p> </p><p>“...no.”</p><p> </p><p>“Oh, ehm. Uh..”</p><p>Charlie lowered his voice, and adopted a more worried look.</p><p> </p><p>“Is, that your, uh... , real name.”</p><p> </p><p>“I’ve told you my real name.” Yang said, forcing patience into her voice. “Ruby is my sister’s…. Tell you what, just come up with something. I’ll roll with it.”</p><p> </p><p>With that they sauntered up the creaky steps to the porch. Charlie took care to open the door and step aside so that Yang could enter.</p><p><br/>
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</p><p>The Brandts were exceptionally welcoming to “Janet Long.” They greeted her with smiles, happily chatted, and welcomed her into her home. Aunt Marlene, a stout woman with a dimpled smile, rogue silver streaks in her brown hair, and true love for life in her eyes, was particularly quick to present her with food and play the good hostess. Still, Yang could feel a trepidation lying beneath the warmth of the surface. Those who spoke with her were clearly trying, beneath the veneer of polite conversation, to scan her appearance, mannerisms, and personality, and yet, they seemed utterly confused by what they saw. It was as if she was failing to fall comfortably into the categories by which these people sorted their world, neither presenting enough signs of an enemy to cease the offers of hospitality, nor enough signs of a friend to lower their guard.  </p><p> </p><p>Yang, however, was scanning them too, not so much for who they were, but for information about the world. How people dressed, what they believed, and so on. The speed at which the “where are you from?” question came up caught her unprepared, but by some luck “An island called patch on the coast” wasn’t taken as an immediately ridiculous or offensive answer, even if no such place actually existed in this new world. </p><p> </p><p>Eventually it was agreed that Yang would be welcome to spend a few days on the farm, and the family even gave her the opportunity to do some odd jobs on the farm for a little bit of some of the money or “dollars” as they were called here, which came in the form of metal coins or papery folding notes. On Saturday, the first weekend day, she would get to see “Topeka” as well.</p><p> </p><p>Eventually left alone, Yang’s mind was left to wander to her team once again. She couldn’t help but worry about Blake, about Ruby, even about Weiss. Then it occurred to her, her team was full of 4 tough, skilled and incredibly resilient young women. How badly could they be doing on their own?</p><p> </p><p><b> <em>21 September 1936, Munich, German Empire. </em> </b>   <b> <em>8:58 West-Mitteleuropa Time</em> </b></p><p> </p><p>Weiss woke up on a couch in a somewhat cluttered living room to the sound of a spoon plinking against ceramic. </p><p> </p><p>“Hey, you! You’re finally awake.” </p><p>The young man from before was looking at her from the nearby kitchen.</p><p> </p><p>“Care for some coffee?”</p><p> </p><p>Weiss <em> did </em> care for some coffee.</p><p><br/>
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</p><p>“So… <em> Weiß, </em> I want to help you, and to understand… whatever happened in front of my apartment this evening. You are not going to faint again if we discuss it calmly, <em> ja </em>?</p><p> </p><p>“Ok.” </p><p> </p><p>“Let’s start from the beginning. Where are you from?”</p><p> </p><p>“Im, from Atlas, on the continent of Solitas and the most prosperous and technologically advanced civilization on Remnant. More recently, though, I had been in Vale.”</p><p> </p><p>“...”</p><p> </p><p>“I’m guessing that means as little to you as things like ‘München’ and ‘Deutschland’ do to me</p><p> </p><p>“Heh! <em> Ja, </em>I suppose that is fair.” </p><p> </p><p>“Alright, then what is the last thing you remember?” </p><p> </p><p>Weiss grimaced and let out a pained sigh. “There was… an attack in Vale. People were dying, grimm were pouring in from all sides, and even the drones turned against us.” We were starting to evacuate, but then something happened. There were these white blasts swallowing people up, and then… I guess one hit me.”</p><p> </p><p>“Grimm?”</p><p> </p><p>“You know, black-and white monsters, red eyes, bent on the destruction of humanity.”</p><p> </p><p>“No such creatures exist here.”</p><p> </p><p>“Wait, really?” </p><p> </p><p>“Really, really.”</p><p> </p><p>“What about aura?”</p><p> </p><p>“Some types of foreigners, plus a few odd people, believe in something called ‘aura,’ it’s like a soul, but more… of an energy. It’s an interesting theory, even if unsubstantiable.”</p><p> </p><p>“What do you mean.”</p><p> </p><p>“It’s not even socially expected that everyone believes in souls anymore, though most people do. Theology and opinion on spiritual matters are neither falsifiable nor verifiable by the scientific method.”</p><p> </p><p>“Right, but that's different. Aura, where I come from, isn’t religion, or some amorphous spiritual matter. It is demonstrably usable to protect against danger.”</p><p> </p><p>“Ok, this is all sounding like some wild mix of fantasy and science fic-”</p><p> </p><p>With that, Weiss simply focused and a shimmer began to engulf her, forming a shield over her body.</p><p> </p><p>“...Ok, well… almost every major worldview I’ve ever been exposed to has just been shattered. Sooo... do <em>you </em> have any questions I can attempt to answer before <em> I </em>faint?”</p><p> </p><p>“None that can’t wait until morning.”</p><p> </p><p>“Ok, thanks. The couch is yours for the night. I’ll be in the room down the hall. Come get me if anything else strange happens outside."</p><p> </p><p>
  <b> <em>22 September 1936, 16 years after Brest-Litovsk and the defeat of the Bolsheviks, 9 months after Kerensky’s assassination. ~4:00 AM Local Time</em> </b>
</p><p> </p><p>A heavy and cool rain was bombarding the jagged terrain, and harsh wind ripped through the land, broken only by the almost incessant labyrinth of trees that was itself only broken by the river and the small clearings that occasionally formed at its edges. </p><p> </p><p>A person would be liable to complain of soaked clothes if caught in such weather. </p><p> </p><p>For the girl curled beneath a particularly large evergreen at the edge of the clearing, it merely disguised the torrent of tears that had recently fallen on the hem of the cape she clutched around herself.</p><p> </p><p>People were suffering and dying in Beacon and she couldn’t do a thing to save them. Beyond that, her team, her friends, everyone she had ever known. It was all gone. That much had sunk in. She had joked about not needing friends and weapons being better than people, but now suddenly, after months with a team by her side, Ruby Rose was utterly, completely alone in a way she never had been before.</p><p> </p><p>And it was the worst she had ever felt.</p><p> </p><p>She had been huddled beneath a tree for hours, and though she thought, with uncertainty, that she had fallen asleep at some point and awoken at another, she was pretty sure she had even been crying in her sleep, if such a thing was possible.</p><p> </p><p>But no grimm had been drawn to her, despite how all of her despondency would be crying out to them like a flame calls out to a moth.</p><p> </p><p>Even a hungry monster to dodge would be less lonely than the isolation she found now</p><p> </p><p>Forlorn and dead to this stark new world, Ruby decided to shift into the only other response that came to her. She got up on her own two feet and began to move  until she became a disembodied mass of rose petals speeding down the pass the river had cut through the hills.</p><p><br/>
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  <b> <em>2 Hours Later.</em> </b>
</p><p>She had been running for some time, eventually just with her legs after her aura ran low. Now her exhaustion was creeping up on her once again. Suddenly, something on the horizon stopped her in her tracks.</p><p> </p><p>There, starting to stand out under the nascent light creeping into the sky from somewhere behind the mountains from whence she had come, was a tiny village. Perhaps 20 wooden domiciles, with a few larger buildings along one street. The largest was on the edge of town, topped first with an onion-y looking dome, and then a symbol that felt particularly familiar, and reminded her of Her Uncle Qrow, of Ozpin, and even an accessory she had once owned herself in her quest to imitate the former. </p><p> </p><p>
  <em>People. Actual people!</em>
</p><p> </p><p>For the first time since she came to this world, Ruby managed to smile, and with that, she began to walk down the forested slopes into the town.</p>
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<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Chapter 4</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>It has been a minute, and this chapter is still shorter than planned. Life is one reason, but it's honestly pretty hard to write new-world arrivals for 8 different Isekai'ed characters without being painfully repetitive, and I really do feel it will be necessary to establish all of JNPR's starting locations and circumstances in addition to RWBY. But lest I let you magnificent rare breed of human beings that have overlapping interests in Kaiserreich and RWBY think I have abandoned you, I must post at least something, so... enjoy.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
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  <b> <em>Near Orleans, Midnight local time, 22 September 1936</em> </b>
</p><p> </p><p>Jaune Arc had been boiling over as he trudged through the farmlands and woods. He didn’t know how he got there, he just knew that he had to get somewhere from which he could try to contact Pyrrha, or at least get someone to give both the headmaster and that woman in the red dress what for. </p><p> </p><p>The last thing he had known, she was screaming in agony, her body weeping and convulsing in that <em> horrible machine </em> . <em>That</em> <em> grey-haired tainthole </em> <em> calling itself Ozpin</em> was just standing there, muttering halfhearted apologies as the atrocity continued. </p><p> </p><p>If anything had happened to her, Jaune would have the headmaster's head for it.</p><p> </p><p>Then there was a shattering of glass as an obsidian arrow rended the transparent lid of the other sarcophagus, and the process shut down before static and light tore through the vault.</p><p> </p><p>Eventually he found his way to a larger road, and it led in a direction where there seemed to be light in the sky, perhaps a city.</p><p> </p><p>But then a brighter light flashed behind him as a vehicle rounded a corner, It came tearing up to him before the rubber screeched to a halt. </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>3 men clad in blandly colored suits emerged from the car while the driver remained inside with the engine running. Two were burly and rough, the third was lanky and pale, with eyes flanked by dark circles. As they paced their way into encircling the armored teenager, he noticed that all three reeked of tobacco, but only the thin one before him was smoking at the moment. In the hand not occupied by the cigarette was an odd device. It clicked with increasing intensity as he waved it in front of Jaune’s torso. </p><p> </p><p>With that, the ringleader gave a small nod to his henchmen and set the detector aside. He began to speak in an odd manner that Jaune somehow understood.</p><p> </p><p>“<em> D’accord."  </em> He said with a sigh. "Who are you?”</p><p> </p><p>“J-Jean Arc.” Jaune said, his adapting mouth struggling to get the words out.</p><p> </p><p>The interrogator smirked at that, while his goons fell into a haughty and nasal laugh.</p><p> </p><p>“The maid of Orleans herself graces us with a saintly apparition, no? Certainly you are boyish and doe-eyed enough to be her!” One of the men behind him sneered.</p><p> </p><p>“Not crispy enough to be her, though.” the other chimed in. “Then again, they do say the English don’t really know how to cook.”</p><p> </p><p>“Very well, Comrade... Arc," The leader said. "What are you doing out here, and with whom do you work?”</p><p> </p><p>“Uh, I just, sorta, showed up here?” Jaune spoke, a noticeable case of uptalk was vividly displaying, in the mind of the detective, his discomfort with the answers he was giving. “But I’m a huntsman student in Beacon academy with my team?”</p><p> </p><p>A twisted frown wrung its way onto the eldest man’s face, shaking some ash off of the cigarette hanging from his mouth. “Very well. If you won’t play it straight, we have enough to make a monarchist propaganda stunt of this already, so we will have plenty of time to find out more precisely what you are. Take him.” </p><p> </p><p>Jaune flared his aura,  blocking a club’s force as it came down at his head. The wielder yelped as his club bounced from his fist, before partaking in a desperate race with the knight over control of the weapon. The other goon struck more at the back of Jaune’s head, but he was doing no damage.</p><p> </p><p>“<em> Hnng, qu’est ce que c’est!?” </em></p><p> </p><p>Jaune eventually won the fumbled baton from the first man, and directed his aura to deliver a powerful blow to the face of the second. With a loud crack he went flying into a nearby tree, eking out another gruesome crack.</p><p> </p><p>“<em> Augh- ...Hig-g-gr-grk.” </em></p><p> </p><p>Jaune paled as the man he attacked, though a trained thug, someone who, in his world, would have at least elementary conduct over aura, proved unshielded and fragile. The man was sputtering and gurgling blood, An eye was swollen shut under a considerable wound on his brow, and worse yet, a branch’s stump had impaled his spine. </p><p> </p><p>“<em> SALAUD!” </em></p><p> </p><p>In his hesitance he was tackled to the ground with all of his remaining opponent’s might. The leader came rushing up and desperately plunged a syringe into Jaune. </p><p> </p><p>"<em>hggg...bleh!"</em></p><p> </p><p>Jaune's world went black just as he saw the man on the tree drop his head and go limp.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Just Jaune for this chapter, and he was our mystery arrival in Communard territory. </p><p> </p><p>Announcing that their arrival event was detected near Orleans probably wasn't the slyest foreshadowing, but hey, where else but France should you indulge in some cheesiness?</p>
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